


Yours, Mine, Ours

by I_Otaku



Series: Amnesty [6]
Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Frostbite, Gen, Hypothermia, M/M, Mama Thacker and Stern are all referred to on a first name basis which is wild, Soulmate shared scar au, Trans Duck Newton, all humans!, also half of this fic is referring to characters not by the name you know them as lmao, also just to be clear dont use fanfic as your basis for medical knowledge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-27
Updated: 2019-10-27
Packaged: 2021-01-04 03:33:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21190862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/I_Otaku/pseuds/I_Otaku
Summary: Indrid is fifteen years old when his mother explains the history behind soulmates. Soulmates, good or bad are tied together by the red string of fate. This connects them, but the connection runs deeper than sight. You feel them. You know when they've been injured. Some people think they want one, some don’t at all, some have more than one. Indrid doesn’t believe in love aside from his mothers, too many times he was caught watching the news. Cheating, lying, betrayal, marriages that fall apart because they never loved each other in the first place, Indrid doesn’t want a soulmate.Indrid lays awake that night holding his hands up towards the ceiling, waiting for some kind of confirmation. Either that he has no choice and he will fall in love, or nothing, and a sign that he’s right and he won’t have a soulmate. The confirmation doesn’t come which still lends itself to both possibilities. He falls asleep with aching elbows and a furrowed brow.In his dream Indrid stares down at the red string that trails down to the floor, twisting and tumbling along the floor all the way out of view. Even as he follows it, it runs into the shadows growing ever longer.He wakes up just as tired as when he went to bed.





	Yours, Mine, Ours

  
  


Indrid is fifteen years old when his mother explains the history behind soulmates. (Myth, he chooses to believe.) Soulmates, good or bad are tied together by the red string of fate. This connects them, but the connection runs deeper than sight. You feel them. You know when they've been injured. Some people think they want one, some don’t at all, some have more than one. Indrid doesn’t believe in love aside from his mothers, too many times he was caught watching the news. Cheating, lying, betrayal, marriages that fall apart because they never loved each other in the first place, Indrid doesn’t want a soulmate. 

Indrid lays awake that night holding his hands up towards the ceiling, waiting for some kind of confirmation. Either that he has no choice and he will fall in love, or nothing and a sign that he’s right and he won’t have a soulmate. The confirmation doesn’t come which still lends itself to both possibilities. He falls asleep with aching elbows and a furrowed brow.

In his dream Indrid stares down at the red string that trails down to the floor, twisting and tumbling along the floor all the way out of view. Even as he follows it, it runs into the shadows growing ever longer. 

He wakes up just as tired as when he went to bed.

* * *

Indrid is part way through explaining why the twist in his favorite visual novel is obvious when you can read the foreshadowing during lunch when he stops, his breath hitches.

His friend Barclay reaches out a hand hurriedly gesturing for Indrid to lift his right hand. Indrid follows, a pained hiss escaping him as he looks down at his own. A fine red line has crossed the back of it, small droplets of blood appearing. Barclay swears and runs the sleeve of his flannel over it. 

Indrid expects there to be much more blood than there is, instead of a deep gash like it appears, Indrid's skin is discolored. A minor pain compared to his soulmates, but the adrenaline rush that follows makes up for it. Both boys sit, watching for more scars to appear on their hands, but to no avail. Barclay calls him lucky (Knowing for certain he has a soulmate, knowing they have a matching scar). He calls Barclay lucky (He doesn’t have a scar on his hand).

Indrid finds himself rubbing a thumb along the line time and time again in class, distracted by ambient noise and shining lights. He has a soulmate out there. Interesting. Does he want one? Not really, he’s kissed a couple people and fumbled his way into a real date (which went about as well as he was expecting, that’s to say it was like a hang out but awkward instead of fun) but it still doesn’t feel like his thing. Maybe his soulmate is different? He huffs a breath through his nose and fiddles with his glasses. What would he even want in a soulmate? 

He taps his pencil against his composition notebook and makes a list in the margins. _ Indrid’s partner: Tall(er than him), cool, _ he wants to list more but his teacher calls on him and he has to pretend to take notes. (He still gets the question right.)

* * *

Madeline and Arlo are pretty cool for being a year ahead of him, he’s sixteen and they’re seventeen when they fuck off into the middle of the woods out behind the school. They crunch through the dried out leaves, Arlo pointing to different trees with his flashlight and Madeline calling him a nerd. Indrid feels right at home, they find a pretty gnarly looking tree and climb up to the lowest branches, sitting to swing their legs.

Madeline pulls out a knife and a block of wood, Arlo shines the light down on her lap. Indrid sits and looks up at the stars. They don’t talk much, Indrid points at the constellations and Arlo explains them, Madeline calls him a nerd. They’re the outcasts, and Indrid likes it that way. They don’t have to make perfect eye contact or follow the confusing maze of social interaction nobody ever bothered to give them a map for. Madeline doesn’t talk much aside from snappy punchlines or insults, Arlo talks a little too much with his thick thick accent. Indrid’s a happy middle filling in some kind of balance between both. Neither ask about his colored glasses, just like he doesn’t ask about Madeline’s tangle or Arlo’s soft looking necklace.

They find a different tree the next week. Then a rotting stump. Then a thick brush that acts like a mix between a sponge and a trampoline. One night, Indrid decides to stop by Barclay’s house and sneak him out to join them. He nestles in without a fuss, he and Madeline seem to hit it off. Barclay is the one to bring up soulmates. 

Everyone in turn seems to sneer, Indrid laughing as his friend visibly deflates like a scolded puppy. 

Madeline believes in it, but doesn’t want one. She wants a family, one she can build with her own two hands. People she can protect and who can protect her, she doesn’t want a single love when she has so much love to give. 

Arlo doesn’t believe it. He’s covered in little nicks and scrapes, some scars on his fingers from whittling, hiking, one apparently from his older sister trying to put a barrette in his hair and him slicing his palm open on it in an attempt to get it out. He knows his love is out there, but wants to find him himself.

Indrid nods as Barclay, next in line hanging on the tree branch speaks. He wants to believe in soulmates, but doesn’t think he deserves one. Everyone is quick to shut that down, he shakes his head. He doesn’t know what his soulmate could even be, because he doesn’t know who he is. 

Indrid adds on after a lull. He knows his soulmate must be out there and they’re taller than him, and cool, probably with piercings (because his mothers won’t let him get gauges yet), and they’re gonna be rich one day and they’re gonna be perfect. If they’re going to fall in love, then Indrid can tell exactly what they’re gonna be like. Madeline leans forward and calls him an idiot, Barclay rolls his eyes and elbows him. 

A touch stronger than he intended it turns out, Indrid goes falling backwards off the tree branch, landing on the forest floor with all of the wind knocked out of him and head turned in an attempt to see where he would fall. He blinks the black specks out of his eyes and struggles to get his lungs to work. But when he can see again everyone is kneeling around him, Arlo’s hands on his chest. One eye is seeing everything red, as his senses can better handle, one a jagged mess of red and the dark blue of the midnight sky. Barclay pries his glasses off, one of the legs terribly bent and broken glass falling from the left lens.

His friends help him to his feet and check him over, Madeline holds the flashlight as Arlo pulls out his swiss army knife to unfold pliers and pick shards of glass out of Indrid’s cheek. He cries a little, but nobody makes fun of him. Arlo sticks a gauze pad on his cheek and Barclay hands over the broken glasses. 

Indrid is grounded the next day, and he doesn’t want to go outside without his replacement glasses anyway. But when he stands in the bathroom, eyes scrutinizing his reflection, he has a thought. He traces his hands over the awkward stubble growing in patches, the black hair that poofs around his head, and his fingers linger on the bandage. His soulmate must have a new scar too. 

* * *

He goes back to hanging out with Madeline, Arlo and Barclay immediately. They talk about plans for college, about whatever stupid video they watched earlier in the day, what teachers said what stupid shit. Madeline’s going to an art school way out in the middle of nowhere. Arlo’s going to a forestry place not too far off. Barclay wants to go to a culinary school a few counties over. Indrid wants to go to the city, all three of his friends nodding. Indrid jovially announces he got his own phone, his friends swap numbers.

They don’t talk about college much after. As the year continues Indrid is constantly reminded that they’re graduating, they take tests and start talking about transfer credits and Indrid tries to hold onto them for as long as he can. 

He attends their graduation, screaming with Barclay when their names are called and they walk across the stage. They meet up not long after, Madeline’s parent taking them all out to a place for a late lunch. They pay and the four friends talk about everything and nothing, desperate pleas to stay in touch as the world is changing around them. 

Barclay’s fathers pick up the underclassmen, dropping Indrid off at home. Indrid rubs the back of his right hand as he trundles up the stairs to his bedroom. He wonders if his soulmate is his age. What if they’re older than him? What if they’re younger than him? Does he want to be with somebody older than him? Madeline and Arlo are nice but not all of the upperclassmen are. And wouldn’t it be weird to date somebody who’s in junior high? That’s weird!

He flops down on his bed, fussing with his dress shirt. What does he even want in a soulmate anymore? Maybe someone tall? But he really liked hugging Arlo because he was short- maybe something less important? Would they have long hair or short hair? Ugh but that’s too inconsequential- Indrid rubs his hands up and down his face. His phone buzzes in his pocket, Madeline sending a message in their groupchat. It’s a photo of an acceptance letter, Barclay sending a stream of emojis. Indrid smiles, and pulls the screen close to his face. Focus on the present.

* * *

Despite what he tells himself, Indrid can’t help but immediately check everyone’s cheek when he meets them. He doesn’t want to- he doesn’t care about soulmates. He’s had a winding history with the concept and he should be focusing on getting his portfolio ready for colleges to look over. But each portrait he draws changes. A beautiful woman, long hair swept up in a bun that still tumbles out in dense curls. A person with firm features, tight cropped hair and wonderfully hooked nose. A man with kind eyes and a soft smile. What does he want?

Many of his art projects are about himself, and he still twists the subject to explore. Who’s out there for him? Who’s out there that’s going to be his other half- he’s already complete on his own. What if his soulmate is just completely incompatible and they’re going to be enemies? 

Barclay sits in the art room and thwacks Indrid with hard candies most afternoons, reading their groupchat aloud as Arlo sends pictures of his old poorly illustrated textbook. Indrid draws, practices in pencil, ink, pastel, charcoal, desperate attempts to make himself appealing to colleges. To get out of this small town and find himself, find out who he likes and who's out there too.

* * *

Indrid and Barclay find a new transfer freshman at their prom, she's in a beautiful dress and crying on the doorstep outside the gym. (They just stepped out because they finally came to the realization they fucking hate the rest of their class-) and Indrid drops down to sit beside her. She stops crying for just long enough to explain why she's there, and then she's crying again. Barclay runs an arm over her shoulders, apparently her date faked scars to match hers. 

Barclay seems to know exactly what to say. His voice is rumbling and smooth, the girl cries into his rumpled dress shirt. He offers condolences and to beat the shit out of the bitch, the girl laughs wetly. 

Indrid takes her free hand and rubs his thumb over her knuckles in a motion his mothers did to calm him. 

He offers advice on taking care of herself first. Not caring about who's out there until she's ready to look. Barclay shoots him a few knowing glances but the girl sticks a hurried hand in her mess of blonde hair and nods. Maybe he's telling her what she wants to hear, maybe he's telling her what he wants to hear. He's just talking as the girl nods and smears her makeup all over her face.

* * *

Graduation isn't as exciting as Madeline and Arlo's, but Indrid and Barclay are quick to get their papers and get the hell out. Tear off caps and gowns, kiss their parents cheeks, and sprint out of the hall to main street. Barclay rushes to the dance dance revolution cabinet even though he's terrible, Indrid take off for the stacker game. 

They don't have to talk, they don't have to think. Just for now four years of hell is over, they're adults, and college is a summer away. Barclay falls on his ass and Indrid catches it as he walks back to him, twirling his prize (a terrible mp3 that holds all of two songs) and whistling. Barclay calls him a jackass and Indrid pulls him to his feet with a fair bit of struggle. Barclay claps a hand on his shoulder and laughs calling him a beanpole, Indrid fixes his glasses (dislodged from the powerful clap) and calls him a himbo in return.

* * *

He applies to as many big city art school as he can get away with. A few turn him down, complaints about his GPA and disciplinary record. His first choice is not one of them. His first choice welcomes him with open arms in the form of an acceptance letter and both of his mothers scream, cheering and demanding to celebrate with him as soon as possible. 

He sends an image matching Madeline's a year ago (almost exactly) to the same raucous applause from his friends. Despite being so far away, they all have kept in touch and the opinions of three misfits means more to Indrid than anything else in the world.

At that dinner Indrid lets his happiness take over everything else in his brain, and he does a wonderful job until the server sets down his plate. Their hand is covered in thin sliver scars, discolored but not raised or indented. Indrid pauses and looks at his own hand, seeing the same look. But then they're gone and his mothers are asking what's gotten him distracted. Nothing, he replies. When the server comes back they're wearing a wedding ring. Indrid notices.

Indrid notices a lot. 

* * *

Art college is both everything he expects and nothing he was prepared for. Classes are both fun and exciting and terribly routine. His first weekend as a power drunk eighteen year old artist Indrid bleaches his hair and pierces his septum. His glasses are complimented and he stretches his ears further than his mothers let him. 

His classmates are just as eclectic as he is, some already covered in body art and some already with wedding bands. He asks one of his design classmates, they excitedly explain meeting their soulmate. He asks what it was like, the moment they realized. They blush and ramble, and Indrid can't help but laugh. It's sweet, in a heart rotting way. Will he ever find his soulmate? He's eighteen but it still feels like he's lost so much of his life. Will he ever find someone that makes him that happy? 

Indrid attends a few house parties as the semester goes on, gets to enjoy himself and gets into trouble. Doesn't get caught by the cops and plans to keep it that way. He gets into a spat with some asshole close to midterms, everyone on edge and exhausted. They throw punches, Indrid matches his swings with the heavy bass of the club song playing from the smart speaker. The asshole reaches for Indrid's hair, grabs a gauge instead. 

Indrid's earlobe tears bad, the silicone ring falling bloodstained to the floor and rolling away into the crowd. Indrid's design friend helps him break through the crowd and out of the building, they retreat to the friend's dorm as they treat his ear. Worse than a blow out, but possible to heal. The friend whistles as they disinfect him, remarking about how much it must suck for both parties when something like this must happen. Indrid nods, pulling on the tape and wincing. 

* * *

At nineteen, Indrid finally gets another message from his soulmate. Not a real message, but a rather big clue about them. Indrid is in his introduction to figure drawing class when a familiar and almost forgotten pain runs under his skin. It's not his pain though. He stumbles out of the studio to the bathroom, cramming himself into one of the stalls and lifting his tank top. Blood has smeared in two crescents under his chest, the scars smooth and clean although very sharp and fresh. Probably cleaner than his soulmates chest right now.

Indrid knows an incredibly personal detail about them, and not even their name. He wipes the blood away with sad one ply toilet paper and chucks it in the toilet, simmering on his body. 

Most likely transmasc. Those scars must be from top surgery right? Unless they’re a mastectomy from health complications. New big information he still doesn’t know how to process. He pulls his tank top back down (careful of his healing ear) and flushes the toilet. He leaves the stall, and looks at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. 

Is he what his soulmate expects? He can’t figure out if this whole soulmate is a good thing anymore, he feels sick to his stomach. It’s not any of his business to know somebody’s medical history and not even know their pronouns for fucks sake, he feels like a peeping tom and a victim at the same time. His anxiety is running rampant.

He wants to know who they are- he wants to meet them and ask millions of questions and just figure this whole thing out. He sits out in the hallway and withdraws his phone, texting Madeline. She replies almost immediately despite her terrible connection, she tells him exactly what he wants to hear and his phone autocorrects to Mama but neither complain. 

* * *

Indrid gets into a few more scrapes as he goes through college, a fuck up with an exacto knife, running into somebody with a boiling drink, another punch to his glasses, but aside from the cut across the back of his right hand and the surgery scars, Indrid doesn’t learn much about his soulmate. They’re either very very careful, or very very sturdy. He doesn’t know which he would like more.

He doesn’t really know anything about the subject when graduation comes around, Madeline and Barclay fly into the city (Arlo’s out of the country hiking across some swiss mountain) and Indrid’s mothers weep throughout the whole thing. 

They catch up, after the ceremony. Madeline looks different, she looks older. Beat up coat she got from her parent’s will (Indrid offers his condolences but Madeline seems well adjusted) and brand new stetson hat that suits her like it was made to control her wild curls. Some scars crisscross her visible skin, but all either sunken or raised. Her own. Barclay is beefier somehow, long hair done up in an intricate braid and beard matching. Madeline gives the both of them bone shattering hugs and Indrid cries. 

Barclay brings another surprise though, a plus one arriving after a while through the crowd. He introduces himself as Joseph Stern and the lingering look he shares with Barclay is not missed. Indrid remembers a tick bite that Barclay got one night in high school just on the side of his jugular and when Idrid checks (subtly thanks to his glasses) he sees a matching scar on Joseph. 

Indrid is happy for his friend. Madeline picks up the conversation and clasps Indrid on the shoulder, demanding he shows her to the nearest bathroom. He guides her, only she doesn’t go in. She asks him how he’s doing. He lies. She calls him a dumbass. He tells her about the soulmate search and she rolls her eyes. It’s not about finding them, living for someone else. Live for yourself first. 

Indrid nods, he remembers telling that blonde at prom the same thing, but he just can’t seem to move past it himself. 

They as now all responsible adults go out to a bar that night, Indrids mothers retiring to tour the city. (Legally) Drunk Indrid seems to have many more opinions on soulmates than his sober twin, if Barclay’s phone video has anything to say about it. Indrid rubs the small scar under his eyes and huffs a laugh. 

* * *

He doesn’t know when he finally comes to terms with it, maybe it’s a gradual realization, or maybe he really just woke up one morning and everything fell into place. But he looks down on his drink after moving into his studio apartment and reflects. It’s not using the clues to figure out who they are, it’s using them to figure out who they aren’t. 

He stands in front of the mirror, and scrutinize his reflection. Mastectomy scars. Obvious. His fingers are brought to his face and he looks them over. 

They don’t chew their nails or cuticles. His gaze moves as he thinks. Clear wrists, no self harm scars. If they’ve ever been in the hospital they can take an IV without a problem, no pinpricks or scars from that. No impact scars or falls on shoulders, no broken clavicles. No appendicitis surgery scars, a few little scars on their knees, ankles, and achilles like old shaving accidents. 

Indrid leans into the mirror and looks over his face, lifting his glasses into his hair. What he thought was freckles are perfectly flat on his face, discolored dots. Indrid leans back. Acne scars. Interesting. 

He puts his shirt back on and rubs his arms. What else can he piece together?

He doesn’t want to imagine things anymore, the idea that he may fall in love with a dream and raise his expectations to preposterous degrees. That’s not fair to either of them. Indrid returns to his desk, emptying his coffee/ fruity energy drink mess and sighing. 

* * *

Indrid gets lonely. He can’t help it, the idea that he may never actually find the other end of this red string, he’ll wander down to whatever gay bars he can find and find a nice guy or a pretty person and just have some fun. It’s easy, he’s careful, and neither of them actually exchange numbers. There are bound to be bad eggs just like in anything. 

Maybe Indrid starts putting his own picture together, despite himself. It comes in negatives. His soulmate isn’t as mean as the last person. His soulmate wasn’t as sex-crazed as that other hookup. His soulmate isn’t violent in normal conversation. His soulmate doesn’t overexert him to only realize after and offer empty words. 

It’s a reverse shopping list, and he puts the pieces together just as backwards. A form takes shape, just as that. A form missing anything revealing, but the figure is recognizable just as safety. His soulmate feels like home. His soulmate will hold his hand, and kiss his cheek, and tell him they love him. Because Indrid wants to do the same for them. He wants somebody to give the world to, and someone who will give the world to him.

He knows they’re out there because he feels the want, the need, the craving for safe intimacy that will bring the world crashing down around him.

* * *

Indrid loves the city, he really does. But the constant years of business there gets under his skin. His brain gets fried, he almost loses it at an exhibition, he tries to watch a movie but his film analysis classes in college means he can’t enjoy them (he picks apart every line of dialogue and scene until he can tell exactly where the film is going, because his brain can’t sit still). Madeline gives him a call one day, as Indrid is pulling out one of his few long sleeved shirts to cover a new piece of his body art. 

She says she bought a hotel in the middle of bumfuck West Virginia, in the middle of a national radio dead zone. Indrid calls her a hermit. She calls him a bastard. She invites him down, says he’s always welcome (once she gets it inhabitable, so that itself may take a few years.) She talks on and on about it, Indrid sits on his bed and smiles as she talks. He can barely get a word in but it’s so rare to catch her so verbal and it warms his heart. 

He politely declines, he has more work lined up in the city for private commissions and public art installations at one of the museums. Madeline makes it very clear the door is always open and Indrid laughs. He knows, he tells her. Soon, he promises.

* * *

It ends up taking seven years before Indrid finally loses himself one night. He cancels his plans for the following month, blocks his agents number, cries as he punches clothing items into a messenger bag, and buys an absurdly expensive immediate plane ticket to West Virginia. The flight maybe has him calm down a bit, attempting to cry silently before the elderly woman seated beside him pulls him into a hug and pets his hair. He babbles about his work, his job, his missing soulmate, the crushing loneliness, missing his friends, missing his family, and the woman lets him. 

After they enter the airport she gives him a final kiss on the forehead and departs. Indrid pulls tight on his scarf and the southern ‘winter’ clothes that aren’t at all prepared for a real snowy winter. 

He catches a taxi to the hotel, only to learn something rather entertaining. The driver knows Madeline, only as Mama. He makes a mental note to bully her about that as they drive, and he looks out the window. 

Kepler is a small cold town, although it's warm in its own way. Their are parents walking with kids and laughing, teenagers are riding bikes in the streets, string lights are hung over the main streets (both of them, which Indrid finds especially quaint). It feels like a place Madeline would settle.

Pulling up to the lodge Indrid disembarks with an anxious energy settled in his stomach. When he knocks on the front door to his surprise a young woman with fiery red hair answers. She looks him up and down, and welcomes him in cautiously as Indrid fiddles with his glasses. He’s about to ask for Madeline when a figure appears around a corner, and he pauses. She lights up, running forward and extending two hands for Indrid to place his own on. The woman's hair is blonde under her green beanie and she excitedly refers to him by name before explaining she was the freshman at prom. Indrid smiles nervously and gives an awkward laugh, still holding her hands as she totes him around the lodge like she already knows where everything is. They pass briefly by an empty kitchen that smells like heaven, and Dani- she announces over her shoulder in a rush- leads him to Mama’s office.

Madeline Cobb sits with her legs kicked up on a large sturdy oak desk, duster bunched up around her middle and chunk of wood in her hand that she’s whittling. She looks up as Indrid enters, tears already brewing in his eyes. She stands and walks around to pull him into another tight hug, one he returns so single minded his bag falls to the floor, spilling poorly packed clothes to the floor. She calls him a dumbass. He cries. 

Madeline strong arms him into a quick tour around the lodge, Indrid goes along and passes by the kitchen now featuring the cook. It's Barclay, again beefier. His braid up in beautiful and he looks soft in a way Indrid can't put into words. He nearly screams his greeting (leaving Joseph standing in the kitchen with a fond smile and wave to Indrid) and hurries around the counter to pull Indrid into another hug. It feels like home. He yells over his shoulder and then bustling through the front door of the lodge is Arlo Thacker, rolling his eyes as he and Madeline join the group hug next. It feels right. 

* * *

Indrid stays at the lodge for a few days, he helps in the kitchen, he looks over some of the financials of the lodge- he even works with Dani to teach her how to use charcoal and keep her hands clean. He's happy, really happy for the first time in years. He feels productive without needing to be making money, he feels helpful and like part of the Amnesty family.

Snow slowly starts falling and Indrid steals his friends warm flannels and jackets, blankets and quilts obscuring his entire form. He's sat on the mainroom couch watching Dani and Aubrey try to teach themselves swing dance as the snow tinkles against the window leading to the hot spring. He turns, and it doesn't take him long to feel a creeping dread, something's wrong. He asks the two women, neither know what he's talking about. 

Something is wrong, Indrid feels it. Snow is falling faster now. He looks back to them and asks where everyone is. Thacker's in the basement, they say. Mama's in her office. Barclay's in the kitchen. Indrid asks where Joseph is. 

Joseph went out. Aubrey says. 

He'll be back soon. Dani says. 

Indrid doesn't believe it for a second. He's had a good sixth sense since he was young, and he notices too much thanks to his anxiety and hyperactive brain. Something's wrong. 

Aubrey puts her hand on his shoulder and says something about checking with Barclay if he isn't back soon. She pulls him out of his blanket cocoon and tries to get him to dance. His moves are uncoordinated and after half a song he apologizes before going into the kitchen. Barclay welcomes him with the wrong name and a pet name and Indrid snorts. 

Barclay explains Stern should be getting back soon, he doesn't go out by himself often but he wanted a walk before it started snowing. 

The snow has blanketed the ground outside in nearly an inch as Indrid passes by another window, and stares. Something is wrong. He can't think anything besides that, he can barely breathe.

* * *

After an hour and almost two additional inches of snow Indrid makes up his mind. He rushes through his room, layering up everything he can and grabbing Barclay's big red winter coat to put on top. Mama called some kind of meeting at Barclay's request in her office and Indrid slams on his boots, before pulling the lodge door open and shutting it behind him. 

The sun has set and cold the temperature has plummeted, wind whips snow around in dense clusters. He calls into the air, screaming over the howl of the wind. He just got a home, Barclay's in love, everything is right. He can't afford to lose this. This is everything he wants, he needs. He doesn't need a soulmate. He needs Madeline and Barclay and Thacker and Joseph and Dani and Aubrey. 

Indrid goes down the straightaway leading to the lodge. He doesn't know where Joseph went, but he braves as best he can down into the low side. He finds the mainstreet all but abandoned, the only light coming from what appears to be a general store that Indrid enters. A kind old black man is rubbing down the counter, he looks up as Indrid enters. Leo, as he introduces himself, calls him an idiot for being out right now, he needs to get back home before he gets snowed out. Indrid apologizes and asks if he's seen Joseph Stern. Leo shakes his head and says if he has any sense, he's already home. 

Indrid takes back off into the snow, Leo yelling something about a friend at him. 

Indrid is going back topside with numb fingers when his yelling finally gets a response. Joseph's yell is weak and Indrid rushes through the piling snow on burning muscles. He dodges between trees hearing his weakening replies. When Indrid finally reaches his friend, he can barely feel the icy wind cut against his skin anymore. Joseph is almost entirely buried in snow, what looks like a tree branch collapsed from the weight of the snow and caught him in the leg. 

Indrid scrambles through his pockets to ready two handwarmers he shoves into Stern's coat collar. Joseph's lips are blue, and the yelling seems to have taken the last of his energy. Indrid is shaking himself as he starts digging him out, narrating his actions in an attempt to keep Joseph conscious. 

The snow is almost half a foot deep now, Indrid's digging just piling it even deeper around them. He realizes far too late that he's not going to be strong enough to lift the branch. Funny how that still doesn't stop him. He braces his legs deep in the snow pile and pushes against it with his back, Joseph keening in pain beneath him as he rolls it off his crushed leg. It takes a few times but Indrids numb hands can drag him out from the snow pile, propping him up against a tree (not crumbling under the weight of snow). He’s not talking anymore, and Indrid fishes out his remaining handwarmers, putting them as close to Stern’s armpits as he can get them. He takes off his coat, pulling it tight around Sterns shoulders and giving him his scarf. The wind keeps cutting as snow continues to fall. All he has to do is get Joseph back to the lodge. His body has gone almost completely numb, and Joseph is vaguely lucid- but Indrid is bringing him home.

He can barely breathe, one arm under Joseph’s arms and carrying him off his shoulder- but Indrid goes. He struggles to move through the snow, following the vaguest indents where his steps were coming out. He’s not sure how he’s going to get back to the lodge when he can’t feel his legs anymore- but he can see the street again. His glasses are frozen over and his head is starting to spin- 

The last thing Indrid sees is glowing snow, and he hears a strange voice rumbling almost like he’s underwater. Then the cold takes over, and he collapses into the snow.

* * *

Indrid wakes up to the ceiling of the lodge coming into view, blurry and spinning, distinctly brown, not orange.

A new voice says something to him, he still can’t understand them, but it sounds nice. A face enters his vision, at least he thinks it's a face. They’re in what seems like some kind of compression ski mask covering most of their skin, gloves and a big green coat. They say something again and Indrid blinks drearily. 

They sign, and Indrid can at least recognize that, he blinks once in confirmation. Yes, he’s conscious and lucid. The person nods, and ask him something else but a shiver runs through Indrid’s body, and he shuts his eyes.

* * *

Madeline is talking to him. Or more accurately, talking to Dani overtop of him. Indrid hears his name though. He shuffles gently, involuntarily wincing at the pain that spikes through him. Madeline pauses, and puts a hand on his cheek. She’s warm, her hand is rough and calloused and it feels so familiar. She asks if he’s awake. He mumbles in confirmation. 

She pulls her hand away and Indrid opens his eyes, only to be slapped harsh across the cheek. He takes it. 

She calls him a terrible string of swears and insults and ends it with a very strong grip on his hand. He appreciates it. He asks weakly how Joseph is. Dani says he’s being taken care of by Barclay and Duck, and Indrid makes a noise. Madeline adds that Duck was the ranger that found them, courtesy of Leo Tarkesian, whom she now owes two lifetimes of patronage. Indrid smiles. They talk a little more, indrid’s vocabulary retracted to confirmation or rejection noises in the back of his throat. Joseph is home. He’s home. Everything will be alright. 

* * *

The next time Indrid wakes up, the figure is kneeling above him, gloved hand checking his pulse. He makes a weak noise, and Duck nods. He says something with a sweet rumbling voice. Indrid tries to reply, lifting a still tingling hand. Duck laughs into his mask, and pulls off his right hand glove, to take Indrids hand. Indrid looks down to see their hands entwined, warm and strong and safe. Duck seems nice. He has a scar on his hand, but he seems really nice.

Indrid falls back asleep.

* * *

When Indrid can think again he pushes himself upright on tense and shaking muscles, a few blankets falling forward to pool in his lap. Nobody is around, it’s dark and the only light is coming from the fireplace not too far off. He runs a hand across his forehead and takes a deep breath of the warm air. A voice calls from the darkness, and he turns to look. 

An unfamiliar figure approaches, and it takes a few seconds for Indrid to realize, it’s the ranger, Duck (If that was his name, maybe it was Dick and he just misheard?). Yes, Duck Newton as he introduces himself. He’s not in his winter gear anymore, a cozy looking sweater and short brown hair just barely streaked with grey at the temples. He approaches and Indrid pats around, finding his glasses and pushing them onto his nose. 

Indrid thanks him. Duck tips his head down, Indrid feels like if he had a hat he would tip it too. It’s rather charming. 

Duck asks about him, Indrid asks about Joseph. He’s doing fine, according to Duck. Greenstick impact fracture, got it splinted up as best they can until the snow lets up and they can get him to Saint Francis. Duck walks over to sit on the couch, Indrid pulls his pile of blankets so he can lean up against it. The low light from the fire casts the room in a faint glow, Indrid just barely catches the flickering shape of Duck’s face. He’s mature, and calm, and soft in a way he can’t explain. He looks happy, like a man who loves his work and loves his life- but his fondness is deep. Like he’s struggled before and has come out on top. Indrid just knows it- he just does. He can’t explain it, but looking at Duck feels right. He feels like home- which is so comforting, and so so terrifying. 

A log snaps violently in the fireplace and Duck whistles, standing and stoking it to brighten the room. When he sits down, Indrid realizes why. He’s got two little lines just underneath his left eye, and Indrid knows them. They’re scars from having glass plucked out of his skin. He looks to Duck’s ear. He has both ears pierced (without studs, because of the weather) but the right earlobe is warped and messed up. 

Indrid asks to see his right hand, and Duck blinks. He says sure, laughs and says that he got the old scar from the high school he went too, and Indrid lifts his own to meet it. Their fingers interlock, palms tight together. They both look at their own hands, before turning to examine the others. They match. 

Indrid looks up and feels tears well up in his eyes. This is good, right?

Duck is just as frozen, their hands are still locked together. 

Indrid explains in a rush- this doesn’t- they can’t just get married or anything-

Duck just clings to his hand and stares down at him, wide eyed. After Indrid asks, Duck mumbles something about never expecting to actually have a soulmate. Indrid laughs wetly, and nods saying it back. Duck talks for a minute about never seeing scars, he thought they were all his own, before Indrid pulls him down onto the floor. He points to the pale lines on Ducks hand, each cut he recognizes from his own mistakes. Duck apologizes for the acne scars, Indrid shakes his head and apologizes for the blown out ear. Duck just figured his piercing caught the pillow wrong while he was asleep. 

Their hands are still clasped together. 

Indrid shivers and Duck lifts his arm. They break apart for just a moment, Indrid moving close to his- well his  _ soulmate- _ and Duck wraps his arm across Indrid’s back. He’s warm and soft and as Indrid looks up, the formless figure from so many years ago disappears. Now it’s only Duck. 

How could it be anyone but Duck? Duck is- Well he doesn’t know Duck yet, but he’s so excited to learn. 

They spend the night quietly talking to one another, mumblings of introductions, histories, talks of friends and families, scar stories. It feels right. Indrid can only think of his mothers, holding hands as they sat, watching a movie. Here he is now, holding hands. Such a simple gesture, but a million words he can’t figure out how to say. 

I’m here. I’ve got you. You’re not alone. I’ll always be right here. We’re together. You’re safe. I’m real. I trust you. You mean so much to me. I want to be yours. I love you. I love you.  _ I love you. _

A little red string has wrapped him up for so much of his life, and when Duck laughs at his own joke before even getting it all the way out, eyes crinkling and voice interrupting himself with a snort- Indrid realizes he’s found the other end.

**Author's Note:**

> Whatup I have many emotions about the mothman tell me how I did down below


End file.
